Learn to Love Again
by ashleyjskywalker
Summary: Companion piece, of sorts, to Pathway. Oneshot.


"Liv, are you ever gonna find a guy?"

Rachel's question is innocent enough... You know she worries about you, living alone in Boston. But she doesn't know about John because you haven't told her, haven't told anyone because you both agreed not to, at least not yet. Revelation will bring repercussions, reorganization, and neither one of you are ready to lose your partner to pursue a public relationship. Neither of you are even entirely sure what this _is_- even if somewhere, deep down, despite how hard you've tried not, you know you've fallen in love with him. And so you smile, even though she can't see it through the phone, and brush the question aside, turning the topic to how she and Ella are doing.

* * *

It hurts, this feeling of betrayal, twists a knife in your gut and leaves you breathless, trying to recover yourself and hopelessly failing. Hurts like nothing else has before, because you _trusted_ him- trusted him to cover your back, trusted him with your life, trusted him with your _heart._ And to find out that he is a traitor leaves your heart broken and shattered into a million pieces on the floor, and you don't think you'll ever be able to recover them all again and put yourself back together. And so you steel yourself against the world, building a wall around what is left of your heart, put on a brave face, and go back to living, with a promise to yourself that you will never again be that vulnerable.

* * *

He slips into the role of protector easily, you muse. You suppose someone needs to protest Walter's harebrained schemes, since you've been all too willing to just take what he says at face value and go along with it. You haven't seen much other choice, not if you wanted to get to the bottom of whatever John had gotten himself embroiled into before his death. But Peter has been the voice of reason, opposing Walter's desires to shoot you full of hallucinogenics and let you float in a tank of salt water with wires connecting you to John's brain.

You suppose when it's phrased like that it does sound _slightly_ insane.

The day that he has to pull you out of the tank serves as a moment of truth for you, because in those few moments before you fully come back to yourself and he's clutching you tightly against him, you let yourself enjoy it- at least as much as you can in that moment- and let yourself think that his arms feel good wrapped around you. The look of concern he wears on his face warms you, and you realize that beneath the tough exterior of the con-man is a man who genuinely cares for the people close to him, even if he pretends not to.

And that moment, even if you don't realize it then, is the moment that the walls you've constructed around you heart begin to soften again, and you decide that Peter Bishop is someone you want to get to know better.

* * *

His effect on you is calming. Soothing. When you're afraid to sleep, afraid to dream, afraid that you're somehow causing people to do things against their will and his hand threads its way into your hair and he pulls you into his arms, the fear inside you ebbs. He makes you feel safe, you realize, safe from this world of horrors that his father is at least partially responsible for creating.

But at this same time, this acknowledgment scares a part of you. Because if he makes you feel like this, you have let him in farther than you had thought, and the implications of that are immense. It's too soon for you to feel like this again, too soon to have feelings for another person after you lost John, after your heart was shattered. Especially for him.

* * *

He is the first person you ask for when you come back to life, your brain too panicked for you to even process the reasoning behind it. But even through your state of panic, you see the slight look of hurt in Rachel's eyes as you reach for his hands and grasp them tightly, trying to anchor yourself back to this world, trying to remember where you went and failing. You cling to him as you try so desperately to make him understand, to make him realize what you're trying to tell him, to please, _please, _just bring you your gun.

And it's only as you drift off into another round of drug-induced unconsciousness that your mind wanders over the fact that of all the people in the world that you could have wanted to see first, it was him- not Rachel, not Ella- and that you only wanted your gun so that you would feel safer when he wasn't there with you.

* * *

You try not to let yourself brood as you sit in the office building, waiting for Walter to come up with yet another miracle cure for the grotesque virus plaguing it. Try not to look at him and wonder if you're both going to make it out of this one alive. Try to ignore the feeling of dread in the pit of your stomach at even the thought of doing any of this without him.

You try not to show your elation when you both pass Walter's test, try to rein in your relief as you follow the first batch of uninfected down the stairwell, into the lobby, out the door. But as you step outside and turn around to look at Peter, the guards' arms come up to block him, and you see the half-crazed look in his eyes and the trickle of blood sneaking from his nose. Your stomach drops to your feet and your heart leaps into your throat simultaneously as you watch them push him back into the building and force the door shut, and the panic rises up within you again at the thought of losing him to this.

It's in that moment that you let yourself recognize the fact that despite your best efforts you've developed feelings for Peter Bishop.

* * *

You try to ignore the butterflies fluttering nervously through your stomach as you get dressed to go meet Peter, try not to think of the way his hand felt on your cheek and the smile that ghosted across his lips as he told you that you didn't need to be afraid, try not to think about how much you wish he had kissed you and how much you wish you hadn't pulled away. You try not to obsess over your appearance- it's just _drinks_, it's not as if it's actually a _date_, even if you might want it to be. But some part of you can't hold back, and you pull your hair out of the ponytail before you leave, because you know he likes it down.

* * *

Watching the video of him following Walternate to the other side drives a knife into you. Because you _knew,_ and you couldn't tell him, afraid that it would cost you him.

Maybe you should have just told him, because now you've lost him anyway.

You cling to the hope that you'll be able to cross over, that you'll be able to chase after him and bring him home. Bring him back to be with you. Bring him back where he belongs. You don't let yourself think, as Walter finds the others- the children he experimented on all those years ago- and brings you all together, refuse to let yourself think of the consequences of what will happen if this doesn't work, refuse to acknowledge that there is even a possibility of this not working. Because you need him, and so it has to. Gone are the denials that you don't need him, that you don't feel like that about him, because it would all be bluster at this point. Desperation has driven away the will to lie to yourself.

Later, the memories of your actions while you were trying to find him will be dim blurs- you can't let yourself stop to think, stop to consider, you have to just _act_ and hope that you don't make a mistake. And then finally you're standing in front of him, and all of your carefully rehearsed reasons jumble themselves into one massive heap in your head, and the one that comes out of your mouth is the one that is the truest, the one that leaves you vulnerable again.

_You belong with me._

And even given your current situation, your heart soars as he wraps an arm around you and his mouth covers yours.

* * *

This, you remind yourself with no small amount of asperity, is the exact reason why you guarded yourself the way you did after John died. Because you're sitting huddled in this corner, clutching his damp T-shirt to you, shattered into pieces and unraveling because of _him_. Because while you were over there, being brainwashed and tortured and threatened, _she_ was here, taking what should have been yours, what you had just finally allowed yourself to admit you wanted.

And it hurts. Hurts even more than John's betrayal, though you hadn't thought it possible, because you were finally learning how to trust again, how to love again, and even though some distant part of your heart and mind recognize that it _wasn't_ really his fault, that no one else knew either, he is the only one on which you can lay blame right now. Because _she_ isn't here anymore, and dammit, he should have _known_, should have been able to tell the difference between the two of you.

And the part that terrifies you and thrills you all at the same time is that there is still a part of your heart hidden away, intact somewhere deep inside of you, that forgives him and still loves him, and at that moment the only thing you want to feel is his arms wrapped around you as he whispers soft comforts into your ear, and instead you'll sit here alone and cry.

* * *

The universe must have a sense of humor, you muse, if it is nothing more than a clichéd phrase that serves as the trigger to making yourself admit that you still love him.

_There is nothing to fear but fear itself._

Because it's true- the only thing that's been holding you back from reaching for him again is the fear of inadequacy, the fear that she was better than you, the fear that he still had feelings for her. But in the end, it is the memory of what he said to you in that cafeteria that gives you the courage to trust him again.

_I came back for you- for us._

And if he cared enough then to cross universes for you, surely he's something worth fighting for.

* * *

Maybe you're just destined to be miserable. Maybe you're just supposed to be alone. Because _every single God-forsaken time _it seems that you and Peter will have your happy-ever-after, something happens, something ridiculous that shouldn't even be in the realm of the possible, and you are torn away from each other again. Separate universes, doppelgangers, existences completely erased- it seems that if something can possibly go wrong, it will. And you wonder how many times you'll be able to fall apart and put yourself back together for him before it becomes impossible to do again.

Some part of you supposes that you should be upset about losing an entire lifetime worth of memories, though you can't bring yourself to actually feel it. What you feel right now, as you drive home, the deep cut of his rejection still fresh on your heart, is despair. Longing. Anguish. Yet somewhere deep inside of you there is still a spark of hope that he will realize that you are the one that he misses, the one who has shared so much with him, the one who loves him with every fiber of your being.

And that spark flares into a full-fledged conflagration when you step out of your car to see him standing on the steps to your apartment, smiling at you.

* * *

The huge grin on his face when you told him you were pregnant quelled any fears you might have had about whether either of you were ready for this. If anything, all of this had made you love him even more than you already did- the way he pampers you after a long day at work with foot rubs and back massages, the way he gently lays a hand on your stomach and talks in soft tones to your daughter when he thinks you're asleep. Everything he does speaks volumes of his love for both of you.

Which is why, you muse later that night, you shouldn't have really been surprised to come home to find a candlelit dinner on the table and a small black box sitting on your plate. Neither of you had really ever brought up the subject of marriage- you were carrying his child, you had bought a house together, and both of you knew it was clear enough that you never wanted to lose each other again- but it _was _the next logical step.

Still, your hand shakes slightly as you reach for the small case and flip open, and when you finally manage to stop staring at the ring inside in shocked silence and turn around to look at him again, he is down on one knee before you, his hands reaching up for yours.

He doesn't have to say anything, and neither do you, because there is no questions in your minds of whether or not this is what both of you want. Because he taught you how to love again, gave you a love that perseveres though everything, and you have no intentions of ever letting him go again.

* * *

Side note: if you're subscribed to me/following my stories and you start getting notices of updates on them over the next couple weeks, it's just me editing my typos, not actual updates. Not really sure if it'll send any, just a heads-up.


End file.
